


Those Who Feel The Breath of Sadness

by Invida



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2719169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Invida/pseuds/Invida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Precious and few are the moments that you and your own worst enemy share.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Who Feel The Breath of Sadness

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers** : yet another missing scene for _Ruskie Business_  
>  **Disclaimer** : I know the law, and the law would win.  
>  **Acknowledgements** : Merci to Rain for the beta. She rocks.  
>  **Notes** : originally posted elsewhere in Sept 2005...summary comes from _Your Own Worst Enemy_ by They Might Be Giants.

"Excuse me, miss, but Mr. Echolls' room is ready." 

From where he was kneeling on the floor, all Logan could see was ugly carpet, until a pair of cheap Oxfords entered his field of view. He felt Veronica's grip tighten around him protectively. Logan was surprised to hear anyone speaking to them until he remembered where he was. He didn't need to look up to see who was speaking to Veronica. His mind was wrapped around the phrase "she's gone" and there didn't seem to be room for anything else.

"Perhaps you and your fiancé would like to take your reunion there instead of the lobby," the concierge said, in a clipped tone.

Logan felt Veronica's right arm let go of him momentarily as she angrily snatched the small cardboard folder from the concierge's hand. 

The concierge spoke again. "And Mr. Echolls will find the room service menu in the desk of his suite." 

"Thank you," Veronica replied icily. "And since we're guests now, perhaps you could afford us some of that legendary privacy you mentioned earlier." 

Logan's mind cleared enough to see the concierge smile sardonically, spin on his heel and stalk off. He wanted to laugh at the snotty bastard, but his laugh became stifled by his sobs and he ended up coughing.

"Logan," Veronica whispered into his hair, "Don't worry about him. Just take your time, okay? Take deep breaths."

He started to feel anxious and claustrophobic in her arms. He grasped her tighter for a second as if he could take some strength from her, then he took a deep breath and then let her go. She seemed to take the hint and released him from her arms. His head was still bowed and his knees were still touching the floor. He sat back with his palms on his thighs. She was still very close to him and he whispered without looking at her. "I'm okay. I'll be okay." 

"I know," she said. He felt her hand on his back again, rubbing soothingly. He flinched at her touch and felt her hand withdraw.

He inhaled deeply again and stood up. She backed away from him. 

He had no idea what to do next. He hadn't made any plans beyond finding his mother. He didn't even really know what he would have done had it actually been her. No matter how altruistic he said his intentions were, most of his fantasies around finding his mom ended with him asking her to take him with her. He closed his eyes, trying to squeeze the humiliation and grief of his delusion out of his head.

"What do you want to do, Logan?" 

He turned and was surprised to find Veronica still standing beside him. She looked worried. Why shouldn't she be worried? When had she seen him freak out like this? Not since Lilly died. He blocked that thought out quickly. He didn't need those feelings tonight. He had enough grief and guilt on his plate without having to remember that this was not the first time he lost someone he loved.

He wiped his nose on his sleeve and shook his head. "I don't know."

"Here." He looked over; she was holding a packet of tissues out to him. He took one and wiped his face, and then shoved it in his pocket. He rubbed his forehead, trying to relieve the tension that was building there. He almost didn't notice that she was taking his other arm and leading him to the elevators. 

"Where are we going?" he asked hoarsely.

"To your room," she replied. "Let's get out of the lobby before 'Mr. Prickly' comes back."

He didn't respond.

"I'm assuming you booked a room since the desk clerk gave me this." She opened up the keycard envelope and pulled out his credit card. He took it back from her and pocketed it.

His concentration was shot, so he didn't complain when she herded him onto the elevator. Other guests got on as well so he stood facing the corner. He wedged his head into the corner, staring down at his shoes, and wondered if this was what it felt like to go crazy: standing in the corner of a crowded elevator, willing himself to be invisible. 

After the sounds of several dings, doors opening and closing, and shuffling feet, Veronica finally tugged at his arm. "C'mon, this is our floor." He turned around and found the elevator empty. 

When he didn't make a move out of the elevator, she took his arm again. He let her pull him along the hallway to the room.

She pulled the keycard out of the folder and opened the door, letting him in past her. He stood in the entryway, hoping that she wouldn't find the light switch and that he could just fade into the darkness, but she found it and the room was suddenly awash with light.

After his eyes adjusted he surveyed the room. He noted that the concierge put them in one of the "more affordable packages".

"Do you need anything before I go?"

He had forgotten again that she was there. When he looked at Veronica, she had her hand on the doorknob and she looked like she couldn't wait to be gone. 

Veronica Mars was the last person he wanted pity from, but she was the only person around. He couldn't figure out exactly what he wanted from her or why she was even sticking around long enough to find out. And now he realized that she really didn't want to. He couldn't really blame her for that with the way he'd treated her in the past, but after the last few weeks, he thought that maybe-- Maybe what exactly?

Seeing her hand on the door and the look on her face, he realized he didn't hate her any more, and maybe never really had. She'd just been an easy place to dump all his hurt, guilt and blame. And now, there wasn't even a corner left for his grief. The realization that the look on her face was his fault hit him hard. 

He had to look away. To his right was a small hall table with a mirror on the wall just above it. A large vase of dried flowers sat atop the table to one side of the mirror. He caught his reflection. Puffy, red eyes and nose, and matted hair. He moved to the mirror and instinctively started fixing his hair. He stopped once he realized that it was ridiculous because he didn't give a shit who saw him. He leaned on the table with both hands and saw Veronica's reflection in the mirror watching him, still waiting for an answer.

"Do you have to go?" he softly asked her reflection.

Surprised, she answered, "No, I guess I don't."

"Do you want to go?"

She looked down uncomfortably. Her silence confirmed all his worst thoughts. 

"Well, just fucking go then."

She looked up hurt and confused and rushed over to his side. "Logan, I'm sorry. I didn't mean --" 

"Did you not fucking hear me?" he yelled. 

She stopped, her arm still reaching out to him. He gripped the hall table tightly and it shook under his hands. Suddenly, that felt really right to him. He needed to shake something, break something. He began to rattle the table violently, shaking it until the vase began to bounce, and then finally topple when he thrust the table across the room. He thought he would hear a satisfying crash and the thud of the table hitting the couch, but Veronica had caught the vase even though most of the flowers had fallen out. He hadn't counted on her having lightning reflexes. 

He tried to grab the vase out of her arms, but she held on tightly. "Just give it here, Veronica!"

"No!"

"Let go!" 

He got hold of the rim with both hands and with a good yank, freed it from her hold, sending her careening into the wall and the rest of the flowers flying at the couch.

"Fuck, Logan!" Veronica screamed at him, rubbing her shoulder where she hit the wall. "What the fuck are you going to do? Trash the room?"

"Maybe!" he screamed back.

"And what the hell is that gonna get you? You'll get security up here, you'll probably get arrested and then your dad is gonna know you were here. And he'll find out why you were here. Do you really want that?"

He paused and thought about it for a moment. What would the grieving widower and now media darling say about his son being delinquent again? He laughed bitterly then turned and hurled the vase at the opposite wall, shattering it.

Veronica turned to go. "Fine. I won't be a party to this."

He grabbed her arm before she could reach the doorknob again. "Hey! That's it, okay? That's all I'm going to break. Really. I swear. Just let me have that one, all right? C'mon, Veronica. It was ugly."

She turned back to him eyeing him suspiciously and then she looked down to where his hand was still on her arm.

"Don't go. Okay?"

She opened her mouth to answer just as the phone in the room rang. Logan let go of her arm and said, "I'll get that. Just don't go yet." She nodded.

He ran to the desk in the opposite corner of the room and picked up the phone.

"Yeah?" he greeted the caller with annoyance.

The accented voice of the snobbish concierge came through the receiver. "My apologies for bothering you, sir. But we've received a complaint about a disturbance from your room. Is everything all right?"

"Uh yeah. Everything's fine. My uh -- fiancée couldn't find the light switch and walked into the table, knocking over the vase. She's such a clumsy little thing." He let out an exaggerated laugh and looked over at Veronica. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Oh I see! Well, we'll send someone right away to clean that up then."

"No! No. That's not necessary. Please don't send anyone, but you can charge me for the vase."

"But sir, we wouldn't want there to be any injuries due to a breakage in your room."

"Look, I can assure you that there won't be any further disturbances from us. So just let me take care of the mess, okay?" 

"Well, that is very reassuring, sir. Thank you. Again, my apologies for disturbing _you_."

Logan slammed the receiver down, muttering under his breath. "Jerkass." 

He walked over to Veronica who had just returned from the bathroom carrying the garbage can. She picked up the rest of the flowers and then got down on her knees and started picking up pieces of the vase and tossing them in the garbage.

"You know, if you'd thought this through, you would have let them send someone up to clean this up. I'm surprised they called so quickly."

He bent down and helped her. "They were waiting for something to happen. They just want to come up here and find a reason to throw us out or get some fodder to give to the tabloid rags. It'll probably be enough for those vultures that I made some noise though."

From the corner of his eye, he could see her stop and look at him briefly before she said, "I'll take care of this. Go clean yourself up."

"Yeah. Okay." He straightened up and went to the bathroom. It was a big room with all the amenities. The Sunset Regent knew how to treat its guests, even the ones with the 'more affordable' packages. He splashed some water on his face, and ran a wet hand through his hair. He stared at his reflection as water dripped from his face, and wondered again if this was what crazy looked like. He had no idea what he was doing. He found out the truth about his mother and then he'd asked his worst enemy to stay with him when he didn't even know what he wanted to do. Then again, maybe this was what a boy who wanted his mommy back looked like. 

He had no illusions about his mother. She had loved him, but as an afterthought. She had made a point of being numb even at his expense. Granted, she was, at best, the better choice between evil and oblivious. Even if he had found her tonight, and begged her to let him go with her, he knew she'd ask why as if nothing was wrong. He pulled a towel off the rack and dried his face roughly. Before leaving the bathroom, he resolved to let Veronica go if she asked.

When he came back into the sitting room, Veronica was finishing the cleanup. She picked up the last large piece of the vase and looked at it closely. "You were right, you know. It was ugly," she said, tossing it into the can.

Logan picked up the table and placed it over the remaining fragments of the vase. 

"Doesn't this belong on the other wall?"

"This way, we won't step on any shards we didn't find."

Veronica made an impressed sound. "Good call."

She straightened up and walked past him, picking up her bag from the floor. "Look, Logan. I only suggested that I leave because I thought you'd want to be alone. I didn't know what you wanted me to say."

He nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets and he felt his resolve slipping away. "I get that. I also get that I'm not exactly the most desirable person you'd want to be stuck with for an evening. And I'd get it if you want to consider yourself 'on the clock' right now. I just -- I'd really appreciate it if you'd -- for a little while --" 

She interrupted his stammering. "Promise me you won't trash the room."

He smiled, glad that she was not making the situation more difficult than it already was. He nodded again. 

"For a little while, then."

She put her bag back down on the floor and sat on the couch which had earlier made the acquaintance of the hall table. He walked over, flopped down on the opposite side of the couch, and announced, "Welcome to the Logan Echolls Pity Party."

"I don't pity you, Logan. I'm sympathising with you," she said, as she took off her boots. 

"Semantics." 

He found the remote and turned the TV on, flipping until he found something light enough that he wouldn't have to think about it. He propped his head up with his hand and stared at the TV, watching it, but taking nothing in. 

Meanwhile, she quizzed him on his general well-being. She asked him if he was hungry and he just shook his head. His stomach was still a knot of tension. She asked him if he wanted anything to drink. He briefly considered raiding the mini-bar, but shook his head again, even though he knew she just meant something non-alcoholic. It would be easy to drink the rest of the night into oblivion and not have to feel any of this. He didn't do grief very well. Veronica, of all people, knew that, having borne the brunt of his mourning over the last year.

He needed to grieve tonight. He needed everything to be real tonight so it would sink in. He wouldn't let himself naively fall into another fantasy again. And, he thought, drinking wouldn't be fair to Veronica now that I've asked her to stay. He couldn't believe he was suddenly concerned about what was fair to her.

A silence fell over them, but it wasn't as uncomfortable as he would have thought having to spend time with Veronica would be. He pulled out his mother's lighter from his pocket and began to play with the lid.

It was Veronica who spoke first. "You know, I could call Duncan. He'd be here in a--"

He shook his head. "No. Just leave Duncan out of this."

"But he's worried about you."

He sat up. "Yeah right. Worried like as in 'Is Logan fucking nuts?' kind of worried. You know, lest I steal his thunder in the whole 'not quite right upstairs' category." He pointed to his temple and twisted his finger back and forth.

She frowned at him. "That's not very fair." He had known she would defend him. She didn't stare all moony-eyed at Duncan every lunch hour for nothing.

"Yeah it is. For a guy who's been walking around like a fucking zombie for the last year and a half, he sure can look down on those of us who are delusional."

She looked troubled by that information. "So you told him your theory about your mother then."

"And he looked at me like I put on armour and started belting out _The Impossible Dream_."

"What?" she asked, more surprised than confused.

He pointed at her. "Yeah. Just like that."

"Whatever. I'm telling you, Duncan is worried about you. He's the one who told me that you were still here."

"Yeah? So why didn't he come with you?"

She shrugged. "I told him I'd take care of it."

"Did he even offer to come with you?"

She looked down uncomfortably. "No."

"And that's why I want you to leave Duncan out of this."

He sat back and resumed flicking the lid of the lighter. He stole a glance at her during a commercial. He asked, "So how come you're all dolled up?"

"'Dolled up'? What is this? A bad gangster movie?"

"You know what I mean. The dress, the coordinating sweater, and necklace, and let's not forget the slight décolletage."

She turned to face him, tucking a leg under her. "How very Queer Eye of you."

"It's pronounced 'couture'," he said with a lisp. "Excuse me for trying to make conversation."

"Last time I checked, we don't do that sort of thing," she challenged. He waved his hand dismissively at her, but didn't bother with a smartass comment in return. She finally offered, "I was at a party, if you must know."

Now that intrigued him. "Yeah? Whose?"

"Caz's."

"An 09er party? Since when do you go to those? You haven't been to one since –"

She cut him off. "Obviously you missed my grand three second appearance at Madison Sinclair's birthday bash."

"I guess I must've blinked. But Caz? What's up with that?"

Veronica shrugged. "Meg wanted me to go with her. And Caz didn't seem to mind I was there when I walked in with her."

"Ah, Meg."

"Yeah. Meg. You know something about that?" Veronica eyed him warily.

"Meaning?"

"The way you said 'Ah, Meg' makes me think you know something about her."

"'Cause I'm always up to something, right? All I know is that she's sweet and innocent and doesn't want anybody to feel bad because of her ever." He clasped his hands and brought them up to his cheek, as he gave an affected effeminate sigh and batted his eyelashes. She smiled guiltily. "Kind of like the way you used to be," he added, and noted her smile faded.

He continued, like he hadn't noticed. "So why aren't you still there?"

"Because I came to get you."

"How did you -- right. Duncan."

"Yep. He wanted to know if I knew why you were here. I guess he must've thought something was up because we've been speaking civilly to each other over the last few days."

"Look. Do me a favour? Don't mention what happened tonight to Duncan, okay? Or anybody else for that matter. I'll figure out a way to explain it to him later."

"Of course," Veronica said in a mock British accent, imitating the concierge, "I assure you, we will afford you the same privacy should you choose to use our services."

Logan laughed. It was his first honest laugh that evening and it caught him off guard that he was able to. He said, "Yeah, well, I had to make sure."

Veronica leaned towards him. "Number 1," she said, and held up her index finger, "I don't talk to anybody and nobody talks to me. Remember?"

"Number 2," she continued, holding up two fingers, "even if I did, no one cares about what I have to say and everyone would think I was making it up."

"And Number 3," she said, holding up three fingers, "you're a client." She leaned over and poked him in the arm with the three fingers she'd held up. "We have rules for clients. Otherwise we wouldn't be in business long."

"You used to have a bigger mouth."

"Oh, like you've ever been able keep _your_ mouth shut."

"Touché. You really take this PI thing seriously, huh?"

"Oh yeah. It keeps me in the lifestyle I've become accustomed to." She made a flourish from her head to her toes.

"Wow. Now I know you're just trying to be nice. No way the real Veronica Mars would leave herself that open to a verbal attack."

She shrugged. "And now I know you're just trying to be nice 'cause you didn't take the bait."

"Just tired," he said, stretching to make his point. "I'm not that nice."

"No arguments here."

He grinned. "So much for being nice."

She waved her hand dismissively. "Old habits." 

"Well, touché again." 

She grinned back and then turned her attention to the TV so he did too, as he absent-mindedly played with the lighter.

After a while, she asked, "Was that your mom's?" She pointed to the lighter.

"Yeah." He stopped flicking the lid and started to inspect the inscription with a fingernail. "You know the last thing she said to me, well, to me and my dad, was that she couldn't take it anymore. Maybe I should get that inscribed on the other side."

"Logan --" she started, sounding cautionary.

"What do you think? Inappropriate? Maybe I need a reminder of what a shitty son I was."

"You're 17, Logan. Everybody is a shitty kid to their parents at 17."

"Not you."

She laughed. "My mom would probably disagree with you completely if you could find her, and what my dad doesn't know would give him an aneurysm."

Intrigued again, he asked, "Where does your dad think you are right now?"

"Staying at Meg's." He wondered if that had been her plan tonight, to stay with Meg, or if that's what she had told her father after she had decided to come get him. He thought it might be better to let that question die rather than explore it. He was pretty sure he wasn't ready to deal with the implications of any answer she might give. 

He changed the subject. "So what was the last thing your mom said to you?"

She looked surprised at his question. She looked down at her hands and started to pick at the skin around her fingernails. 

"C'mon Veronica. I shared. It's your turn."

She kept her eyes on her hands as she spoke. "Just before she left, we got into this fight. She was blitzed. She asked me if it would be better if she was dead."

"What did you say?"

She let out a long breath and said, "I told her to grow up and stop being so melodramatic and I walked away." 

He'd never really understood why Veronica's mother had left. They had their problems: her dad's job loss, her mother's drinking problem, being vilified by the whole town. But he always thought that Lianne Mars adored her daughter and would never abandon her. It turned out he'd been wrong about a lot of things. 

Veronica seemed to be preoccupied with a loose thread on her skirt, and he thought the conversation was over, so he was surprised when she continued. "After she left us, I'd think about that question and think that maybe it would be better. You know? I could canonize her in my mind as being the perfect mom who died tragically instead of the selfish drunk who abandoned her family. And I could look back on my rose-hued memories with heartache instead of heartbreak. Pretty awful, huh?"

He shook his head. "I could hardly make my mother into a saint. Too many soundbites and too much photographic evidence to the contrary."

"This sounds trite, and I hate it when people say it to me, but she's still your mother."

" _Was_ my mother," he said correcting her, "and don't let me forget it again." She winced at his attempt at humour, and he was surprised that he felt a little ashamed.

He pried a little more. "So what would you say to your mom if you saw her again?"

She narrowed her eyes at him as if trying to get a read on what his motives for asking were. He just looked back at her impassively. She finally answered him. "I've gone over it in my head a thousand times. I want to scream at her and hit her and ask all the questions that have been plaguing me for the last year. Why did you leave when I needed you? What did I do? Couldn't you have stayed for me? Why wasn't I a good enough reason?"

She sniffled, but he didn't see any tears. She continued, "But really I know I'd just end up crying like a baby instead, throw my arms around her and beg her to come home."

He shook his head, smiling. "Jesus, Veronica. You haven't changed at all. No matter what anybody says or how tough you try to appear, you're still the girl who wants the happy ending. You're so fucking Disney."

She looked at him indignantly. "Wanting it doesn't mean I'll get it. And like you weren't here to ask your mother to take you with her if she'd stepped off that elevator?"

His smile dropped and he became serious again. "See. That's the difference. Me wanting it _does_ mean I won't get it. You might not have been enough of a reason to stay for, but I wasn't enough of a reason to stay _alive_ for. At least you've still got the chance." He wanted to sound angry, but his voice cracked as he spoke the last sentence. He turned away, knowing that the look of pity that was surely on her face again would either enrage him or turn him into a puddle again.

He felt her hand on his arm and wondered when she had moved so close. She tugged on his arm to try to turn him to face her.

"Don't, Veronica," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut to try to stop the tears. "I'm fine. Just stop with the kindness act. I'm not going to break down again, if that's what you're waiting for." He shook her hand loose. 

"Okay, okay," she said, calmly, but without offence, and pulled her hand back. "But don't forget, I'm here because you asked me. I've got no agenda beyond that." She relaxed back into the couch but didn't move from her spot right next to him. She was close enough that if he relaxed, his leg would be touching hers.

He inhaled deeply and composed himself. He slouched down on the couch beside her and nudged her leg with his hand and said, "Hey. I'm sorry." 

She shrugged. "S'alright. The last thing you need to do tonight is apologize to anybody. Least of all me. Not for this anyway."

He sighed and shook his head. "Why are you being nice to me?"

"Because this isn't fair. Not even to you."

He laughed and parroted her words back to her. "Not even to me."

She winced. "That came out wrong."

"It's okay. I got it."

He watched her try to stifle a yawn. "It's pretty late. I'm gonna be okay, Veronica. You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"Mmmmm. Way too late for me to head out now. I might as well drive drunk. Like it or not, I'm crashing here. You should have got rid of me when you had the chance."

"Meh. There are worse people I could be stuck with, I suppose."

"What? Are my ears deceiving me? Was that a compliment? Granted, a back-handed one, but yes, indeedy, I do believe that was definitely a compliment."

"Blah blah blah. I'll take the couch. You go ahead and take the bed in the other room." He turned on the lamp on the side table, then took off his shoes.

"Oooh. And chivalry, to boot. Where's the real Logan Echolls? Has he been replaced by Don Quixote again?"

He swung around on the couch to put his legs up, but Veronica was still there. He nudged her with a socked foot to try to get her to move. "Enjoy it while it lasts, Veronica. Bet yer bottom dollar that tomorrow, there'll be none. 'Cause tomorrow, tomorrow is gonna be worse."

She stood up to give him room and looked down at him. "Worse than finding out the truth?" she asked.

He grabbed one of the couch cushions and started fluffing it. "Yeah. I'll have to deal with reality tomorrow. With going home. With knowing that she won't ever be coming back there. With facing my dad, and I guess Trina now too. And with the knowledge that Daddy Warbucks won't be rescuing me from this hard-knock life." He slipped the cushion behind his head. He flung an arm over his face, covering his eyes.

"You know, Annie, you know entirely too much about musicals for a guy. You might wanna keep that little secret in the closet. Seriously though, if you need a place to go or someone to talk to--"

He waved his free hand at her as if he was batting her suggestion away. "I thought you were a detective, Veronica. That doesn't qualify you to be a therapist. At least, I don't remember the episode of Scooby-Doo where the gang had that intervention for Shaggy." 

"Be an ass, then. The offer's there though." He peered out from under his arm. She looked a little annoyed, but not so much that he was worried about retaliation.

"Really, I'll be okay," he said, reaching up and squeezing her arm. He let go, but felt like he'd lingered too long and tried to dismiss the moment with humour, "Besides, it's nothing that me and my buddies Jim Beam and Jack Daniels can't handle."

She rolled her eyes. "That's not exactly a healthy way of dealing with it." She walked over to the closet by the front door and pulled out a blanket and a pillow. Then she turned off the overhead lights.

"And here I am, a paragon of what's healthy," he said, spreading his arms out, as though he was on display. That's when she threw the pillow at his head. He laughed and picked it up from the floor and began fluffing it. Then she tossed the blanket at him, but not as maliciously.

He unfolded the blanket and pulled it up over him while she grabbed her bag and walked over to the other room. His back was to her as he started flipping channels on the TV, so he didn't see that she had paused when she got to the door. She turned around and asked, "Hey. Does this feel weird to you? You and me? Here? Tonight?"

"Weird as in the heebie-jeebies? Or weird as in 'I should have my head examined'?" He looked back at her with a grin. She merely leaned against the door frame, crossed her arms and looked back at him. He turned back to the television and shut it off before he answered, "No."

"Me neither." She didn't move. After a moment, she asked, "Does it feel weird to you that it doesn't?"

He laughed, and then said, "You know, this -- tonight -- it doesn't make us friends, or anything." 

He looked back to see her reaction, but she was already closing the door to her room as she said, "Shut up, Logan. That's exactly what this makes us."


End file.
